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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26041552">a dying man's regret</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Unrequited Love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:48:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,988</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26041552</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>tsukishima's last regret comes in the form of creme-de-menthe and an arrogant smile that he wants to kiss right off</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Suna Rintarou/Tsukishima Kei, Yachi Hitoka/Yamaguchi Tadashi (mentioned)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a dying man's regret</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>tw: descriptions of blood and choking</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6jEBpiUMJGENDWwFgcHHGR?si=lsXDzyFfSyGTUHSyyH0lnQ">a short playlist to listen to while you read!</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Tsukishima,” Suna whispers into his ear, murmuring with a sleep addled voice that grows raspier with the waning twilight. His lips move slightly out of sync, still heavy with the remnants of his dreams and disjointed syllables that stagger past his lips. His voice reminds Tsukishima of an old, broken down record player, skipping and scratching haphazardly, but almost alluring in its chaos. “Hey, are you awake?”</p><p>“Mmm,” Tsukishima groans but doesn’t bother opening his eyes. Lethargically, he flips his head on its side to face Suna. “No, now shut up.”</p><p>He hears Suna’s voice crackle as a quiet chuckle breaks the silence. As tired as he might have been, Tsukishima can’t help the corners of his mouth from twitching upwards. He manages to pry one of his eyes open to look at Suna. </p><p>It’s really too early to talk. Tsukishima can tell because Suna is still kind of delirious from sleep, a goofy grin pasted on his face like Tsukishima just told the funniest joke in the world. Tsukishima can see the sleep still gathered in the corners of his eyes, and had to resist the urge to swipe his thumb across his still tired face. Suna’s eyes are still glassy, like he hasn’t entirely woken up yet. It makes him look ten years younger and ten years more innocent. Tsukishima nearly snorts when he sees how bad his bed head is, sticking up in wild tufts of black peaks. </p><p>“Why are you looking at me like that?” Suna crinkles the corners of his eyes with amusement. Tsukishima’s open eye pulls back into focus and he realizes that Suna had stopped laughing a while ago. His cheeks start to burn and he’s relieved that the room is way too dark to see his red cheeks. The moonlight casts an off-white glow over Suna’s face, distorting the planes of his face in sharp, angled shadows. It makes his face look pinched and cunning all the same; a perpetual reminder of Suna’s alma mater. </p><p>Suna’s eyes soften and the jade color in his eyes seems to weaken, giving in to the flecks of copper that catch the moonlight and scatter in his irises. His gaze wanders over the ridges of Tsukishima’s face, dancing on the slim bridge of his nose and trailing down his cheekbones. Not for the first time that day, Tsukishima wants to pretend that his eyes means more than just a simple stare. The lump in his throat seems to swell in time with his heart, and it’s almost big enough to stop him from breathing.</p><p>“You tell me, you woke me up,” Tsukishima grumbles in that scornful tone that, over the years, has slowly become endearing to those around him. His words tend to be more rough in the mornings, unfiltered and uncertain how big the nuggets of truth that lie within his jaded comments. There’s no real bite in his tone—there never has been with Suna—and Suna smiles because he knows it too. </p><p>“Sorry, sorry,” Suna yawns, “I was just thinking that… I could fall in love with nights like this,” Tsukishima freezes up and Suna’s giggles replace the sound of his breathing. “That was stupid to say,”</p><p>“I…” <em> could too.  </em></p><p>The words never leave his tongue, and the window to respond has been boarded shut.</p><p>“Good night, Tsukishima,” He wriggles closer to Tsukishima’s body, nuzzling his forehead against Tsukishima’s solid chest. With such a simple statement, Suna has managed to kill him and make him feel alive, all over again.</p><p>Tsukishima can feel his skin start to burn at the slightest amount of pressure. His heart is beating so fast, it almost feels like it’s not beating at all. Suna’s close now, so close that Tsukishima can smell his vanilla conditioner blending with the artificial scent of his lavender laundry detergent. If he wanted to, he could press a kiss on Suna’s head. He could brush his lips against the top of Suna’s head so quickly and so softly, Suna would never know.</p><p>For that very same reason he doesn’t, because he wants Suna to remember every moment that they make together. He wants to burn the feel of his touch into Suna’s memory. All he wants is for Suna to crave <em> him</em>, just as much as he craves Suna. </p><p>His lips hover for a second, caught between all he’s ever wanted and nothing at all; all he has to do is accept the risk and jump. There are no weak links in the chains holding him back, and he realizes that he couldn’t do it if he tried. </p><p>Tsukishima had never been much of a risk taker in the first place, and if it comes at the cost of Suna, then Tsukishima would settle for nothing at all.</p><p>Suna lets out the most contented sigh and Tsukishima can feel his soft, steady breaths through his cotton thin shirt. It’s the most serene sound Tsukishima has ever heard, and it brings tears to his eyes. He can't stop his throat from constricting, and the watery burn in his nose makes his head spin. His chest is so heavy, it almost pulls through the floor. The pressure travels from his lungs, all the way up to his quivering lips. </p><p>It’s one of the worst pains that he has ever felt. It’s not the kind of pain that shoots up his leg and leaves him writhing on the floor, seeing nothing but a blinding white light. It’s the innocent kind of pain that people choose to hide from each other. It’s a common pain that most experience. Besides, it’s more polite to swallow down complaints in favor of a brave face. </p><p>It’s the kind of pain that wriggles up Tsukishima’s body and infests his mind, until the only thing he can focus on is the next time it’ll hit. It's always the same, always beating him into submission with its cruel weapons, reducing him into nothing more than a crying mess of skin and bones on the floor. It’ll leave him with the paranoia of constantly wondering, ‘<em>when will the next time become the last time?</em>’</p><p>Tsukishima coughs sharply, jostling Suna as his back arches against the tremors. He doesn’t push Suna away—in fact, he pulls him even closer. Tsukishima’s arms wrap around Suna’s stocky build and hold him close, relishing in the familiar warmth that oozes into his goosebump-riddled skin. Their bodies mold perfectly against each other, long legs tangling together with no hesitation. His chin can’t stop quivering. He bites his lips in an attempt to stave off the violent vibrations, on the off chance he ends up waking Suna from his sleep. </p><p>Suna’s head is snug under his chin and he burrows deeper into Tsukishima's neck. For a second, Tsukishima wonders that if Suna presses a little harder against him, he could feel the petals that stick in wet bundles against his throat. His hand snakes across Tsukishima’s waist and Tsukishima presses against the touch. Suna’s nimble fingers toy with the bottom of his shirt before lifting the fabric up. He gently grazes the pads of his fingers, tracing shapes Tsukishima can’t quite make out, over his scorching skin. His hot breath fans over the sides of Tsukishima’s neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake and the blond trembling with need. </p><p>Tsukishima pretends that the reason his heart stops because of that instead. </p><p>One of Tsukishima’s hands moves upwards out of habit, cradling the nape of the other boy’s neck. His fingers run through Suna’s hair,  playing with a tuft that’s grown out a little too long. One of Tsukishima’s favorite indulgences is to twirl stray strands around his finger, watching it coil around him like an inky black snake slowly slithering up his hands.</p><p>His free hand stifles the coughing fit before it even starts. His throat is so hoarse that the next time he coughs, he feels something spray against his tongue and the sharp scent of pennies fills his nose. A low, painful moan slips past his lips as he feels something sharp imbed itself into the roof of his mouth. He tries to swallow everything in his mouth: blood, saliva, petals, and all. He sucks on the roof of his mouth until it causes bile to rise up in his throat and the taste of blood turns sour. Tsukishima plays with whatever it is with his tongue until it feels loose and tender, grimacing in the surefire way it’ll become a canker sore in the next twelve hours. </p><p>He waits until his temples throb so violently that his peripheral vision gets spotty and his mouth is pooling in advance with saliva. Only then does he pull away from Suna’s embrace, fighting against his skin that’s screaming at him to go back to that safe warmth that reminds him of home. </p><p>His feet stumble against the carpet floor, dragging loudly as he struggles to move forward. Tsukishima tries to ignore the way his knees threaten to give out from under him until he finally falls into the bathroom. The thought to close the door behind him eludes him, he’s too busy retching over the sides of the toilet bowl. The sludge that comes out is too acidic for him to handle, burning his throat as he forces it out. It’s viscous with the remnants of his dinner and the petals, and the putrid smell overwhelms his senses. </p><p>His eyes flicker around wildly, pooling with tears that free fall down his cheeks and trail angry red welts down the sides. Somehow, between the vomiting and him shoving his hands down his throat to unfurl the petals that are trapped there, he finds it in himself to beg. He begs to anyone who is willing to look down at his aching body and take mercy on him, even if he hasn’t earned it yet.</p><p>His fingers curl on that thing that is lodged in the roof of his mouth and he rips it out with wet, meaty tear. With horrified eyes, he looks at the thing in his hand and he realizes it’s a root. Dancing on the edges are bloody pieces of his palate and his tongue instinctively finds the gaping hole it left behind. The pain forces tunnel vision in his eyes and the only thing he can see is the pile of flowers, lying on his vomit like a sick, perverted throne.</p><p>He’s gasping for air when he realizes that the white petals in his throat have now been stained scarlet from the blood still steadily trickling down the corner of his mouth. The blood paints his teeth a light pink, and it reminds him of the pink camellias that he purged a little over three months ago.</p><p>He hardly even notices that he’s not vomiting any more. His head is still bowed over the porcelain as his hand blindly reaches up to flush the toilet. His mouth is wide open and his jaw aches from the strain of being open for so long, but he can’t find it in himself to muster the energy to close it. Long, pink strings of saliva hang pathetically from his bottom lip. A few petals get caught under his tongue or clings to the hole on the roof of his mouth. His fingers are so slick with spit, it’s a struggle to pinch the edges and pull them out.</p><p>With bleary eyes and limp legs, he staggers up, like a baby deer just learning to walk. His hand is gripping the sides of the counter tight for leverage, eventually managing to get up. He grimaces at the faint, bloody fingerprints he leaves behind. He’s seen it too many times to feign disgust so he just grabs napkins. </p><p>His process is mechanical, completely robotic at this point; he’s done this too many to not have each movement ingrained into his muscle memory. He doesn’t miss a beat, there are no wasted movements in his strides. He’s grateful for the break—it lets his mind rest for a couple minutes. </p><p>He brushes his teeth limply, the exhaustion slowly sinking into his muscles as his hand moves back and forth. The constant vomiting has been taking a toll on his teeth, gradually destroying his enamel with its unrelenting acid. The minty mouthwash swirls around, giving him some relief from the acrid taste. It hits his open wound and it makes him feel like he’d just swallowed lit matches. He manages a gargled cry of pain, swallowing some of it by accident before spitting it into the sink. The color of his blood mixes with the pure blue that it usually is, splashing a murky purple along the sides.</p><p>Tsukishima opens a drawer, tucked away in the far corner is a spare shirt, left behind for this exact reason. He winces at the soreness in his muscles as he stretches his arms, peeling the sweaty, blood stained shirt from his lithe body. Tsukishima doesn’t have to look at the fabric to know that his secret is never going to wash out. </p><p>He quickly sneaks back into bed, leaving a couple of inches in between him and Suna. Not because he is worried about anything. He just wants to take the time to remind himself why he endures so much suffering. </p><p>Tsukishima’s hands hover over the sides of his face, brushing over his brow bone with as much care as he can muster, and moving a couple strands away from his eyes. His breathing has changed from the steady rhythm from before. It’s stuttered and strained like he’s trying to suppress something. His eyes are squeezed shut, but it’s not tense enough for Tsukishima to think that it’s something worse. Tsukishima sits up abruptly and grazes his thumb along his eyes. Suna’s eyelashes are darker, saturated from the tears that linger on them and subtle tear tracks glimmer morosely under the moonlight. </p><p>“Crying in his sleep?” Tsukishima murmurs to himself as he gently wipes the other boy’s face clean. His hand lingers on Suna’s cheek before pulling away. He feels a tickle in his throat again and swallows it down. He quickly turns around so his back faces Suna instead, and pushes his concern away. Tsukishima’s eyelids close and he counts sheep until he falls back asleep. He feels the faint touch of Suna’s fingers grazing his back, still tracing those shapes against the small of his back. Tsukishima’s too tired to move at this point, but he lets out a content hum and loses himself in the mindless tracing. </p><p>“Funny,” Tsukishima thinks, “It kind of feels like he’s writing something instead,”</p><p> <em> Why, </em> Suna’s fingers trace, <em> Couldn’t you lo― </em></p><p>He falls asleep before Suna could finish.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>When he wakes a couple hours later, his throat feels like it has been stripped raw, making the blond wince when he tries to swallow. He rubs his eyes and lets out a long, drawn out yawn before realizing there’s a glass of water lying on the nightstand by two painkillers. Tsukishima blinks in surprise and glances over at the door, only hearing quiet bubbling and the creaking of the floors under Suna’s weight. He slips his glasses on and looks at the pills curiously; sure, he needs them, but why are there here anyway?</p><p>Tsukishima’s blood runs cold and the paranoia hits him like a wave. </p><p>
  <em> He can’t know. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Please, don’t let him know.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’ve been so careful. </em>
</p><p>He chugs the glass of water, enjoying the sweet relief that the liquid brings with it, before sitting up and stretching his body. With a yawn, he drags his feet all the way to the kitchen and leans against the wall to watch Suna. </p><p>The radio is playing an old song that Tsukishima distantly knows, but can't remember where he heard it from. Suna twirls a spatula like a microphone and his hips are swaying terribly out of beat as he warbles the lyrics. His voice is as clear as the sky beyond their windows, free from the familiar arrogance that he has grown used to. </p><p>Tsukishima coughs and catches the petal that flies out of his mouth before Suna can whirl around. Suna freezes and twists his torso around to look at Tsukishima, whose hands are hiding behind his frail body. The blond smiles awkwardly, tucking the petal into the waistband of his shorts as he takes a seat. </p><p>“Stalker,” Suna teasingly points the spatula at him. Tsukishima rolls his eyes and licks the spatula before Suna can pull it away. “Gross!” </p><p>“Tastes like shit anyway.” </p><p>“I’m not done, I need to add salt,” Suna clicks his tongue at him before turning back around to the stove. Tsukishima rises from his seat to peer over his shoulder and blanches.</p><p>“Why are you making miso soup? You hate miso soup,” Suna’s hand stops mixing and falls to his side, balled up so tightly his hands shake. Tsukishima doesn’t notice the gesture, his vision still obscured by the table between them. </p><p>“Easier to swallow,” Suna says without turning around. Tsukishima can’t see what his expression looks like, and is only thankful that it’s the same for Suna. “Did you take the pills?”</p><p>“Why,” His voice is still a little raspy, Tsukishima clears his throat to restart, “We didn’t do anything last night though?”</p><p>“Right, <em> we</em>,” Suna mutters under his breath. Tsukishima’s shoulders slump and he can’t help the feeling that he’s missing something. He hears the sound of liquid sloshing into a bowl and looks up at Suna. The raven haired boy’s face is turned to the side, refusing to look at Tsukishima as he pushes the bowl into his hands. “Be careful, it’s hot.”</p><p>“...Thank you,” Suna nods and turns to pour himself a bowl, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the scent. Tsukishima pulls out a chair next to him and pats the seat, which Suna obediently takes. In unison, they bow their heads and give thanks for the meal.</p><p>“Are you free today? I found a place that I think you’d love,” Suna says as he slurps his soup. Tsukishima swallows his spoonful and shakes his head. </p><p>“I’m meeting with Yamaguchi today.”</p><p>“Again? You guys are meeting a lot more lately.”</p><p>“Have we? I don’t…”</p><p>“You have, what are you guys doing anyways?” </p><p>“Oh, we’re just… hanging out,” Suna glances over at him, obviously not believing his lackluster excuse. Tsukishima averts his gaze in favor of studying how murky his soup looks when he languidly drags the spoon.</p><p>“Then can I join?” Tsukishima’s eyes bulge and he feels the hot liquid rush down the wrong pipe. He hacks out a cough and rapidly pounds his chest with his fist. All he can think about is how Suna has to be as far away from him as possible. </p><p>“No,” Tsukishima wheezes out as he leans over to grab a glass of water. He noisily gulps from the glass before setting it back down, a little harder than he meant to. Suna silently takes the glass back and refills it, patiently waiting for him to stop coughing. “Um, it’ll bore you, anyway.”</p><p>“Please? I just… I want to spend more time with you,” Suna asks, his voice softer, smaller than his usual tone. Tsukishima couldn’t find it in himself to look back at Suna; he couldn’t bear to see the look in Suna’s eyes. He opens his mouth to offer more excuses, but all that comes out are a slew of harsh coughs. His chest twists in agony, and it feels like tons of bricks have been dropped onto him. The pain is a lot more severe than all of the previous fits, not giving him any leeway to catch his breath </p><p>A loud wet cough shakes his body viciously; the slightest vibration feels like someone has put his vocal cords through a wood chipper. He feels his chair fly out from under him, clanging loudly as it veers off to the side. He doesn’t have any time to register the feeling of falling before daggers shoot up his elbow and ribs. His body bounces slightly as it hits the floor with a hollow thud and he cries out. </p><p>“Tsukishima!” Suna exclaims as he jumps out of his chair. His voice is barely heard over the ringing in Tsukishima’s ears and the horrible wet coughs. Tsukishima slaps a hand over his mouth—a weak attempt to keep the petals from spilling out. He throws his free hand up to keep Suna away before running to the bathroom. </p><p>This time, he manages to lock the door before diving towards the toilet, knocking various objects to the floor on his way. Tsukishima can feel it travelling up his trachea, blocking his airway. He aggressively shoves two fingers down his throat, desperately trying to trigger his gag reflex. Tears spring from his eyes as his body spasms over the porcelain bowl. He doesn’t realize that his eyes are closed but when he opens them, the sight is almost hysterical. </p><p>At this point, he’s throwing up nothing but those beautifully heartbreaking petals. He weakly reaches out and places one in his palm; he’s never taken the time to examine them before. It’s so light, lighter than he thought it was considering how heavy it feels in his lungs. He pinches it between his pointer finger and thumb and it’s <em> so </em> soft and <em> so </em> smooth—velvety, even. It’s still a little wet from the spit that was pooling in his mouth. The petal wraps around his fingers without hesitation, like it’s telling Tsukishima that it belongs only to him.</p><p>Tsukishima cries out and is glad that he doesn’t need to muffle it, the petals do that for him. Another root imbeds itself in his mouth, this time on the inside of his cheek. He manages to pry out the root without much effort and collapses against the side of the tub, panting heavily. He can hear Suna banging at the door, but he doesn’t have the energy to stand just yet. The doorknob shakes up and down violently. In his delirium, it reminds him of an oncoming train—the same kind that he used to ride for five hours just to see Suna.</p><p>The seconds counting down before the train’s arrival are so silent, but it’s charged with so much anticipation that it’s anything but quiet. Passengers around him start to murmur and whisper because they can feel it too; there’s an energy shift within the crowd and they all start to move like waves in the ocean. Then the train declares its arrival with a roar. He can feel the ground vibrate under his feet, making him stumble for balance. It feels like an earthquake is happening right under his feet. The world is churning beneath him, and the earth threatens to rip open like a poorly stitched wound. It never lets up; it just keeps going and shaking, and chugging and trembling.</p><p>Being with Suna is a lot like standing in the middle of train tracks. Waiting for a train that he can feel coming, but never arrives.</p><p>“Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!” Suna screams from behind the door, punctuating each one with a slam against the door. The door hinges creak with every blow but Tsukishima knows that Suna won’t be able to get in. He made sure of that at least. </p><p>“Go away,” He manages to croak out but he doubts it’s loud enough over Suna’s yelling. </p><p>“Let me in! Open the door, you asshole!” </p><p>“Go away!” </p><p>“Why are you doing this?!” His voice is so shrill he hardly sounds like himself, “Why won’t you let me in?”</p><p>Someone is laughing and it takes Tsukishima a few seconds to realize that it’s him. It’s a horrible, raspy sound that sounds more like someone is grating rocks against the floor than a chuckle. </p><p>“He isn’t worth it!”  Suna screams, but it falls on deaf ears. Tsukishima wants to lie and say that he agrees, but his tongue feels too big in his mouth and he can’t think of the right words to say without betraying himself. </p><p>Tsukishima finds himself wondering what decision led him down his path. He tries to remember the first time he realized he had fallen in love with Suna. The rush of memories leave him clawing at his throat, scratching furious red claw marks into his pale skin. Instead, he settles for the easiest memory he can remember, when his love first started to bloom.</p><p>Tsukishima has always been terrified of heights. He hates the vertigo he gets when he looks down from somewhere high and can’t see the bottom. His knees wobble without his permission, like he's already simulating his inevitable freefall down. The only solace he gets is from an imaginary rusty railing next to him, one mistake away from falling apart.</p><p>So when Suna brings him on the swing carousel, he’s understandably resistant.</p><p>“You just like having power over me,” Tsukishima pouts. </p><p>“I’ve always had power over you,” Suna chides as he pushes Tsukishima into a seat. “It’d be a waste if I never took advantage of it.”</p><p>“Sadist,” Tsukishima hisses as he pushes the bar down. Suna takes the seat in front of him and quickly puts his own safety precautions on. He twists around to look at Tsukishima, just as the light turns an electric blue. The neon lights paint his body an ethereal shade of cerulean and his eyes are brimming with excitement.  </p><p>“Masochist,” Suna winks and turns back around. Tsukishima snorts and fiddles with the bar, making sure it’s as secure as possible. He hates how it still moves a little with a creaky metal clink, but his legs are long enough to hit the floor, so he’s still okay for now. </p><p>He hears the ride operator speak to them and wraps his fingers around the bar as tight as he can. His mind is filled with images of the ride falling apart, of his seat coming loose and crashing to the ground. Then, Suna turns around again and gives him such a reassuring smile, he forgets to notice that he’s already in the air. Tsukishima‘s eyes are squeezed shut and he’s trying to ignore the dizzying feeling of flying. </p><p>“Tsukishima, open your eyes!” <em> Nope </em>. </p><p>“C’mon, you big baby!” <em> ‘Cause name calling always works. </em> </p><p>“Kei!” His eyes fly open and Suna is beaming delightfully at him. Begrudgingly, he takes a quick sideways glance at the world as he hurtles past and goes back to closing his eyes. Tsukishima can still hear Suna’s whining, so he sighs and relents. He finally opens his eyes and his breath hitches when he takes in the sight around him. </p><p>The lights are gorgeous from above, illuminating the bleak streets around him with a vibrancy that he’d never bothered to notice before. The laughter from the ride next to them overpowers the mechanical noises of the carnival rides. It's carefree and euphoric; Tsukishima almost feels guilty that Suna would’ve missed out on the sound because of him. The water across the way reflects the setting sun. The waves distort the image, but in a way, it’s a better representation of how he’s going to remember that night. </p><p>He barks out a laugh and Suna whips around so fast, he could’ve gotten whiplash. Tsukishima’s grinning from cheek to cheek, and he lets out a hoot as he throws his hands in the air. Suna joins his laughter and kicks his feet in the air, almost kicking his shoe off as he does. Tsukishima watches as Suna stretches his hand above his head, and for a second, he thinks that Suna is trying to catch a star. </p><p>Tsukishima’s so glad that he’s sitting behind Suna. As they swing around in hypnotical circles, he can still see the side of Suna’s face and it melts his heart. His eyes are closed now, hiding away those polished jade jewels from the blurred world flying past them. Suna’s taking deep breaths of the cool night air that’s roaring past his ears, like he’d never breathed this kind of air before and he wants to savor it as much as he can. His legs are still swaying to his own beat, but it’s more lethargic now, more like a habit than a purposeful motion. He looks so calm, like he’s living in his own bubble, his own little blip in time. He looks like he could forget the world around him, and Tsukishima finds himself desperate to follow. </p><p>Then, the ride starts to slow, and Suna’s eyes lazily fly open while Tsukishima pretends that he never saw anything to begin with. The ride comes to a stop and they quickly unlatch themselves before making their way off the platform. The crowd has increased and they knock into a stranger with every other step when they try to leave. With a huff, Suna grabs hold of his hand and starts to tug. Tsukishima almost falls to the ground in surprise. </p><p>His hands are a lot rougher than he would’ve thought, but that’s to be expected when they’ve spent so many years as middle blockers. Suna’s palms are riddled with callouses that feel rough against his own matching ones. He can feel his crooked fingers digging into his skin as Suna struggles to push past a couple. Tsukishima notices that he can still feel the divot on his skin where he’d previously taped from their practice hours ago. What captures his attention most is how cold his hands are. It feels like ice is wrapped around his skin, and it makes him shiver when Suna tightens his grip. </p><p>They heave a sigh of relief when they finally make it through the crowd and take a moment to catch their breath. Tsukishima notices that Suna is shivering now; it’s very subtle, and he would’ve mistaken the tremor for leftover adrenaline if he hadn’t felt how cold Suna’s hands were.</p><p>“Here,” Tsukishima summons his courage and clasps his hands over Suna’s, gently bringing it closer to his mouth. He exhales and he can feel Suna jump at the warmth. He holds firm and keeps going until Suna’s wide eyes have returned to their half lidded state and his hands are not as tense as before. He keeps going until Suna’s hands are as warm as the feeling in his chest and a little more.</p><p>“Thanks,” Suna replies drily but Tsukishima knows him well enough to see the glimmer hiding behind his apathetic eyes. </p><p>“Whatever,” Tsukishima says as he drops their hands, shoving his own into his pocket to hide the way his are shaking.</p><p>“So,” Suna grins mischievously, “Did you like the ride?”</p><p>Tsukishima hums as if he had to really think about the answer. He thinks of how terrifying it was to have the ground swept under from him in an instant. The feeling of having a dozen eyes peering up at him makes his stomach drop. He can feel the vertigo even now. Those thoughts are quickly overwhelmed with other memories. </p><p>He thinks of how Suna’s hands swayed with the wind, slightly rigid with an uncharacteristic amount of excitement for the older boy. The look on Suna’s face as he giggled at the world below him was oddly intimate, like Tsukishima wasn’t supposed to have seen it. It was as if, for those few minutes, he was the one in control of everything, like the world was all a dollhouse for Suna to pick apart and play with whenever he wanted. Tsukishima remembers every detail and recites it in his mind like a mantra.</p><p>“It wasn’t so bad,” He grins cheekily, “I’m still terrified of heights though,”</p><p>“Oh please, you’ve never been afraid of heights, you’re just afraid of <em> falling,</em>” Suna laughs and Tsukishima is still oblivious to how true those words are. He joins Suna in laughter until tears spring from the corners of their eyes and their stomachs cramp. It wasn’t even that funny, but he laughs. He laughs and laughs and laughs until Suna’s standing upright and tugging him back in line for another go. He laughs and laughs and isn’t as surprised as he should be, when a petal as small as a pebble flies past his lips.</p><p>Someone has stabbed a knife in Tsukishima’s chest. Their hands are still wrapped around its handle and excruciatingly twisting until it hollows out a hole within him. He’s lying on the cool bathroom tile, curled up in a fetal position and desperately trying to stop himself from shaking. The drool drips down his face and smears across his cheek as he presses himself deeper into the floor. The sounds of his staggered breathing roars in his ears, much louder than the agonizing cadence of Suna’s screams. </p><p>“Why?” Suna wails as he slams his fist into the door. The wood is starting to splinter under him, but Tsukishima knows he can’t get to him in time, “Why won’t you let me help you? Why won’t you let me stay?”</p><p>That’s the worst part. Tsukishima has already let him stay, and now he’s suffering because of it. Tsukishima can’t handle seeing Suna being with someone else, <em> loving </em> someone else. He can’t stand the thought of someone hiding those dazzling eyes away from him, tearing it away and placing it out of reach from his outstretched hands. He’s already dying, but the thought of Suna looking at someone the way Tsukishima looks at <em> him </em> would be a fatal blow. He knows all of this and still, he’s too selfish to let him go. </p><p>He feels something start to dribble down his nose and he has the strongest urge to sneeze. He presses a shaky finger, right above his cupid’s bow, and isn’t shocked when a petal comes loose. It’s then that he realizes how persistent his disease is in its desire to kill him. The petals have already found a new opening since his mouth has been otherwise occupied. </p><p>The pounding on the door is second only to the pounding in his head, the steadfast beat that has been clanging in his temples ever since he’d met Suna. </p><p>“Tsukishima, talk to me! I’m here!” Suna’s voice is too crackly, and Tsukishima is frowning at the sound. It doesn’t sound like a record player anymore, it doesn’t sound like the soothing growl that he’s become addicted to. Now it sounds like an old radio, filled with static and mumbled words that make no sense at all. There’s nothing captivating about his chaos now. </p><p>‘<em> Go back </em>,’ Tsukishima wants to say, but the flowers gag him and all that comes out is a muted grunt. His eyes are going in and out of focus now, and his mind is hazy from the lack of oxygen. With nothing else to do but listen to Suna’s caterwauling, he finds himself getting lost in the depths of his mind. Somewhere along the way, he stumbles upon the memory of his final doctor’s appointment. </p><p>Yamaguchi stands next to the door, hovering as close as he can to the doorknob. He’s too jumpy to soothe Tsukishima’s nerves, but he can’t imagine anyone else standing with him. Yamaguchi acts as if one word from the doctor would set him off into a desperate sprint. Tsukishima imagines Yamaguchi running away as fast as he can, until the words can’t catch up and he and those words are left behind, like dust in the wind. </p><p>The smell of bleach and medicine disorient Tsukishima’s senses, the room is so white that it hurts to open his eyes. He fidgets with his sleeves when the doctors set the folder down in front of him, inside is a list of what’s been killing him. </p><p>“There are three stages corresponding with three different flowers.Your first flower is a green Carnation,” The doctor says evenly as his eyes peek up from the paper to look at the two of them. Tsukishima nods numbly while Yamaguchi’s shoulders visibly drop with relief.</p><p>“Carnations, thank god,” He laughs, “Carnations mean fascination, distinction, and love,” He recites from memory. Tsukishima has no doubt that he has probably poured hours and hours of effort into doing research for him. He could probably spew a dozen facts for any flower that someone asks him about.</p><p>“Carnations mean a multitude of things, and each color means something different,” He hears the doctor say as he shifts his attention to Yamaguchi. The sound of his voice is faint, like they’re miles away from each other. Even though they’re only separated by a desk that’s barely three feet in width.</p><p>He gets green Carnations. </p><p>Green like the pools in Suna’s eyes that drown him with every glance.</p><p>Green like that grassy field they had gotten lost in one day on their way to a party before deciding to just stay. Slowly passing time by watching the stars and snacking on stale chips.</p><p>Green like the satin ribbon that Suna used to wrap a present for him.</p><p>Green like the stripes on his tattered, worn down volleyball shoes that he’d been wearing when they met.</p><p>Green like the last drops of an empty creme-de-menthe bottle that cling to the mouth of the bottle, until gravity pulls it down and it plummets into Tsukishima’s awaiting mouth. </p><p>“Your second flower is a… pink Camellia,” The doctor says, hesitation ruining his apathetic voice. Tsukishima registers the hiss of pain behind him and he lets that do all the talking he needs. </p><p>“Pink Camellias symbolize longing,” The doctor explains, making various, distracting hand gestures. Tsukishima’s eyebrows twitch at his actions, as if a simple wrist flick could make Tsukishima understand. He listens though, only because Yamaguchi would be disappointed if he didn’t. </p><p>It’s not entirely off its mark. Tsukishima <em> is </em> longing.</p><p>He longs to see the winter air nip at the apples of Suna’s cheeks and tips of his ears, until they’re the same shade as those petals.</p><p>He wants to see that same color tinge his cheeks when he makes Suna blush with a stupid compliment.</p><p>He wants to play one more game with Suna so he can see his face flush with exertion, accompanied with a cheeky grin that screams an arrogance that he has earned.</p><p>He wants to see his face turn pink from laughing too hard when Tsukishima makes an offhand comment about an annoying stranger with his deadpan voice.</p><p>He wants to see how pink Suna’s lips can get when they’re pliant and swollen with kisses, glistening and slick with their spit.</p><p>He longs for every imperfect inch on Suna’s body and every horrible thought that passes through the older boy’s mind. </p><p>He longs for Suna in his entirety. </p><p>He snaps back into reality when the doctor abruptly stands up from his seat. The chair legs grate against the floor in an ear splitting screech, repeating when the doctor tucks it back under the table. Tsukishima manages to catch the last bits of what the doctor says. </p><p>“...Third flower comes in, you contact us. From there, he’ll have three months left, maybe a couple days more if he’s lucky,” Yamaguchi nods and types it into his phone quickly. They thank the doctor and quickly leave the building. Tsukishima doesn’t do anything but glance intermittently at Yamagushi’s crestfallen face as they walk in silence all the way to the parking lot. </p><p>Tsukishima blinks and he’s already putting on his seatbelt with weak hands. The seat belt presses against the base of  his throat uncomfortably, but it’s nothing compared to what’s beneath his skin, so he doesn’t complain. He sits as still as he can and waits. Yamaguchi puts his hands on the wheel but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t move, but Tsukishima can read him like a book. He can see the movements before Yamaguchi even lifts a finger, a curse from knowing each other too well and for far too long. </p><p>Tsukishima’s heart breaks when Yamaguchi falls apart at the wheel. A sob rips through his throat as his head falls limp, chin bumping against his chest. There’s nothing worse than watching your friend unravel before your eyes. Tsukishima feels the guilt wash over him tenfold because he knows that it’s all his fault. </p><p>Yamaguchi’s body wracks with a cry that’s filled with overwhelming anguish and misery, but Tsukishima can’t do anything to stop it. His tears are spilling over his clothes and splashing on the leather seats that he’s always taken meticulous care of. Tsukishima reaches a hand to Yamaguchi and Yamaguchi latches onto it, cradling it as if he were made of glass. He’s holding it like he’s trying to burn the memory of it into his mind before Tsukishima can fade from it. </p><p>Yamaguchi’s tears fall over his cold hands as he hopelessly runs his fingers over each line on his hands. His thumbs linger over the scar that he’d gotten a lifetime ago when they were in high school and their biggest concern was beating Shiratorizawa. </p><p>Back when they were just Yamaguchi and Tsukishima—not Tsukishima and Yamaguchi—because everyone knew deep inside that he would be lost without his freckled friend. </p><p>Back when Yamaguchi wasn’t confident in his abilities yet, and Tsukishima was a coward for a different reason. </p><p>He revises the list in his mind that he made earlier in the doctor’s office.  </p><p>Green like the subtle undertone in Yamaguchi’s hair that he can only see under the warm sunlight.</p><p>Pink like the pale red rims around his eyes when he’s crying over a sad movie, or an American romantic comedy that Tsukishima turns his nose up at but watches with him regardless. </p><p>“I don’t want you to leave,” Yamaguchi’s begging now, “Why won’t you just get the surgery?” </p><p>Tsukishima just laces their fingers together and Yamaguchi cries even louder. He’s choking on his tears now and the sound haunts Tsukishima even in the present.</p><p>“You can still be with him, even if you don’t have feelings anymore,” Yamaguchi tries to reason with him. “You can still have him.”</p><p>
  <em> But I’ll never have him the way that I want to.  </em>
</p><p>“He wouldn’t want you to die either, you’re being selfish!” </p><p>
  <em> I’ve always been selfish, you know that. </em>
</p><p>“Fuck him, <em> I </em>want you to stay,” Yamaguchi’s hand is so tight that Tsukishima wants to pull away, but he knows that shouldn’t move an inch.  He can’t take away what Yamaguchi needs the most. Not again.</p><p>“Tsukki, I need you in my life. I— I still need to propose to Yachi, I was going to ask you to be my best man.”</p><p>
  <em> You’re going to be a great husband, I’ve never seen two people more perfect for each other. </em>
</p><p>“Hinata and Kageyama’s season just started, we have so many more games to watch.”</p><p>
  <em> Tell them I’m proud of them, they finally found a way to fly. </em>
</p><p>“You just finished fixing your relationship with your brother.”</p><p>
  <em> My one of my biggest regrets was wasting years growing up without him by my side. Do me a favor, make sure he knows that even when I thought I hated him, I never stopped loving him. </em>
</p><p>“You have so much love in your life!” Yamaguchi snarls as he grabs him by the collar and pulls him close, “So why are you killing yourself for it?”</p><p>Tsukishima accidentally whimpers and Yamaguchi lets him go in horror. </p><p>“No…” Tsukishima can’t look at him when he unclenches his jaw and a single pristine petal falls out. It’s not as green as Suna’s eyes or as pink as his flushed cheeks. This one is as pure as snow. Yamaguchi throws open the door and runs over the side to vomit.</p><p>White Cyclamen. Some say that it symbolizes a deep love for the other, undying and as pure as the look on Suna’s face that night at the fair. Others say that the Cyclamen is poisonous and symbolizes death; a shorthand way of saying that all good things will eventually meet its demise, one way or another.</p><p>Tsukishima didn’t have the heart to tell him that he had gotten his third flower around two months, three weeks, and six days ago. </p><p>He revises his list again over the sounds of his best friend struggling for air. </p><p>White like how Yamaguchis’s face looks when the blood drains from it. A ghastly pallor, which hurts just as badly as that doctor’s room but in a different way, when he’s been fed one too many lies. </p><p>Now he’s writhing on the bathroom floor, covered in sweat and a flurry of petals. Suna is still screaming, but his voice is hoarse and tired now. Tsukishima is dying, but it’s okay, because he’s still smiling. </p><p>He’s revising his list even now, but this list is all of things he wanted to do with Suna. </p><p>
  <em> Hey Suna, I promise that once I get over heights I’ll take us skydiving, so you can be free in a different way. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Let’s go back to that field and find that bracelet you lost there, it cost me a whole month’s salary. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I won’t complain when you order natto as a side dish anymore as long as you don’t try to eat my cake. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Let’s go back to Onigiri Miya and we can pretend that Osamu is a terrible cook to get free food again. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Fine, I’ll admit it, I was the one who left your chuupets at the store, but I’d buy you a million more if you would smile like you did when you caught me staring at you all those nights ago.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’ll stop hiding my freckles and we can stay up all night, designing new constellations that we can pretend to see in the sky.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You dance to songs terribly, but don’t worry, I’ll rewrite each one, just for you. </em>
</p><p>Tsukishima’s teeth are audibly chattering now. The flowers are flowing out of his nose, and they make a whistling noise when he accidentally breathes too harshly through his nostrils. He’s wheezing more harshly now, just barely able to breathe through his mouth. He’s glad because he’s dying and he doesn’t have any reg―</p><p>“He isn’t worth it,” Suna’s screams have dulled to a hollow whisper. There’s a hint of something in his voice and Tsukishima’s paranoia is confirmed.</p><p>
  <em> Oh, he wasn’t talking about me before… he knows. That’s okay, it’s too late for him to do anything anyways. </em>
</p><p>”He isn’t worth dying for—”</p><p>
  <em> I would die the most terrible death over and over again, just for the chance that we could be together in another lifetime.  </em>
</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>
  <em> There are no words that can make you understand. I’ve choked up every time I tried.  </em>
</p><p>“Why couldn’t you have fallen in love with me instead?” His sobs are thinly veiled by the devastating pleading in his voice.</p><p>
  <em> You moron, I did. I’ve fallen in love with you every day since I met you and I’ll keep loving you till I d― </em>
</p><p>“Why couldn’t you love me as much as I love you?”</p><p>
  <em> Oh.  </em>
</p><p>Tsukishima is still smiling, and even though it fills his mouth with blood, he laughs. The sound is muffled, but Suna hears the quiet laughter as clear as the skies outside. The same one that he had heard when caught Tsukishima staring at him, not even three hours ago. Tsukishima can hear him collapse against the door, the sharp ridges from splintered wood digs into his back, but he keeps sliding. He crumbles to the ground and when he hits the floor, he feels just as dead as Tsukishima. </p><p>He does end up having one regret, right before the flowers crowd his trachea, the roots imbed themselves in his lungs, and the thorns rips his heart to shreds.</p><p>7988 words. 7988 words that he’s used to describe what it feels like to fall in love with someone every hour, every minute, and every second of every day. </p><p>7988 words, and he has never tried to say the three that he needed to the most. </p><p> </p><p>I </p><p> </p><p>Love</p><p> </p><p>Yo―</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i might write a sequel or at least write more for this rare pair, i think their dynamic is so fun :)! hope you liked</p></blockquote></div></div>
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